Fun Stuff/ Research

As Thanksgiving Approaches, I Am Reminded

 

Native Americans are more American than Americans because Native Americans were here before Americans even found America and called it America which was already the Native Americans’ home… America.

 

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And yet, Native Americans are still treated like, “savages”.

Edmund Burke said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

I found all these pictures of Native Americans from history, and yet I have no idea who they are, what they went through. I don’t know their stories. I don’t even know their names.

We are making such magnificent progress with people of color and women’s rights. We’re even talking about how men need to be able to cry and talk about their emotions without being told they’re not a man. Yet, Native Americans are still shuffled to the side, like so much nothingness.

 

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In 2006, Native Americans were 1.5% of our country’s population. That is roughly 4.5 million human beings.

Current sources say there are now 2.9 million Native Americans in the US. That is 0.9%

We went from 4.5 million to 2.9 million. 1.5% to .9%.

 

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In 2004, the Department of Justice found that Native American women are 50% higher in rates of domestic abuse and rape.

That’s not 50% higher than other humans in the US. That is 50% more than the next most victimized demographic!

Meaning, whatever the next group of human beings who rate as #2 highest in rape and domestic abuse… Native Americans are 50% higher than them.

Native American women are also much more likely to be assaulted than other women, of any race.

The Bureau of Justice Statistics, the US Department of Justice,  and Office of
Justice Programs had this finding to report:

at least 70% of the violent victimizations experienced by American
Indians are committed by persons not of the same race— a substantially higher rate
of interracial violence than experienced by white or black victims.”

Meaning Native Americans are typically raped and beaten by races that are not Native Americans.

In case anyone wants to try and blame their pain on themselves. As if the victim is as at fault. Because, hey, we don’t blame victims in this country’s daily chosen culture. (And so no one tries to report this as an alternative fact, this paragraph is sarcasm)

 

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1 out of every 12 Natives are victims of violent crimes, every year.

Native American youth have the highest rate of suicide in all of the youth in our country.

More than 4 in 5 Native men and women have been victims of violence in their lives. That means, in numbers,  730,000 women and  595,000 men.

48.8% of Native women have been stalked in their lifetime. 18.6% of Native men have been stalked.

 

The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services has this to say:

“It is significant to note that American Indians/Alaska Natives frequently contend with issues that prevent them from receiving quality medical care. These issues include cultural barriers, geographic isolation, inadequate sewage disposal, and low income.”

Oh, and also:

“American Indians and Alaska Natives have an infant death rate 60 percent higher than the rate for Caucasians.”

 

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Gee, I wonder why they don’t trust the government. We have all these facts. And what are we doing about them?

What can we do?

We can see Native Americans as people. We are all humans. We all deserve respect, love, dignity, human rights, and the same opportunities.

We can talk about what is wrong about the current state of affairs.

We can talk about their beautiful and intriguing cultures.

Cultural awareness comes with stories poking at us until we see the truth. We can spread their stories. We can find them, tell people their names and their histories. We can care. We can love. We can hope.

But more than that. We can be the engine that moves hopes into reality.

 

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Sources:

Click to access Fast%20Facts.pdf

http://www.ncai.org/about-tribes/demographics

Click to access 249736.pdf

https://minorityhealth.hhs.gov/omh/browse.aspx?lvl=3&lvlid=62

 

Shadow Poetry

Like Clockwork

I wish I could

Reach into your chest

Hold your heart

And breathe life

Into your skin

 

If only my tongue

Told stories with

Answers instead of

Questions

 

Maybe if I used the

Whispers hiding inside…

 

But they don’t want

To show themselves

Outside my skin.

 

I keep forgetting…

 

But I cannot

Remember

 

Sometimes I wish

So deeply that I forget

It’s a wish

 

And then I forget

It’s there at all

 

 

By Daphne Shadows

Stream of Consciousness

Rain to Tears

Something a man said today.

A little story, if you will.

 

He was driving toward a meeting I attend and noticed that the rain water looked ready to spill over.

Immediately, an immense sadness filled him.

The rain turned to tears in his mind.

This rain, it must spill and soak the earth to bring new change, to grow something wonderful.

Our tears must fall.

We use them to water our lives, to spill this pain, so something magnificent can grow from it.

 

We cannot grow until we allow ourselves to feel the pain, the sadness, we sometimes feel.

It can change into something poignant, and from there, beauty.

 

  • December 10, 2016

 

 

Every life is a collection of stories.

This story feels like it became mine, even as it was his.

We absorb and collaborate, with only the mere telling or hearing of a story. We bind them to our souls and feed them for others to hear, to learn from, to become.

 

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Stream of Consciousness

Something True

Truth?

My dog’s big brown eyes staring up at me as I tell him I love him.

 

Truth is getting lost in a song I can feel.

 

Stories are true.

Stories are truth even if they’re wrapped up in some lies.

Make believe. Fairy tales for the soul. Grotesque and painful but beautiful and pure. Painful dredges through the muck so you can build a home and lay on the living room floor like a child again, safe, comfortable, content, and happy to just be there.

Truth is the stories we tell.

The stories we get lost in. The stories we survive inside.

The ones that break us. The ones that build us.

The ones that allow us to find the ugliness behind the bright lights. The beauty in the deepest holes filled with the heaviest atmosphere.

 

Truth is getting lost and finding yourself.

 

Truth is truth.

It can be hidden, denied, disguised, discarded.

But truth can never be broken.

 

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This is post #3 in Rara’s #Somethingist challenge. For my original post (which explains things), click here. And then join the challenge!